There was stillness
the dust cleared
the crowed weaned off
its usual feed
of commotion and speed
(...how could they?
handle this so easy!)
The theme park that never closes and me.
the highs and lows mentally;
are not compartments that make up my being, they are my being.
strong vs. weak
loud vs. silent
we pick our rush, and then we are stuck
we root in to the deep of it... like plant life.
In my case, i felt the ride had picked me.
That hour that no one ever sees...is my hour.
"just my hour and me."
Gradually you take notice of the missing girl from the party.
Slowly the news breaks that she was murdered or she killed herself and everyone pats themselves on the back for being so strong and making it but…. who are they kidding anyways.
Not one person asks if she was affected by the lack of affection or affected by always riding alone on rides always crying herself to sleep in an empty house haunted by memories of life "a life" and a party and music that went on here- and no one asks what type of music made emotions come up like two year old throw up or a train you waited for two years ago at this very hour on this very day.
the mistake of writing down:
I have loved everyone Ide ever kissed but destroyed myself before he could ever have a chance at it .
the art of ...it.
"for better or for worse'" because. who could hold such an isolated being?
Last time i lent my spirit to a boy he just said my body was cold like a ghost. i left immediately.
The aftermath of attachment:
I was lone
standing by the gates of heaven clinging to the locks: crying like a new born baby.
“the lights stopped blinking, guys!” and the music wasn't beating
and the sun was ONLY half way up
and half way hiding from me.
The summer was starting and my eyes were turning black from the lack of sleep and the amount of night times we never seem keep.
-- “i forgot to bring my memory-
people remember it for me.”
There’s nothing more driven
than a human being that is refusing a weaning.
“PARADISE IS GREAT!”- SO THEY SAY
It’s nothing more than a prison cell
with a window
i lay on the ground and cry myself into a cell, into a fragile chemical creep.
“the loneliness was eating me up
the silence had gotten to me
the pressure had pushed me
the waiting was wearing on me”
The battle, the ending scene.
little demons whispering crazy things
they watch as
i spit out
my fingers begin
on the grave
where i was left
my legs begin to twitch
eyes begin to move
mouth opens and takes in air
my throat begins
the crowds went home
and i am rising up
with a stained face
sword out of:
cracking my back
What was intended,
did not kill me.
I PICK UP MY CROWN
AND I TOSS OFF THE JACKET
WITH ALL THE MEMORIES
I PICK UP MY SWORD/I PUT ON MY CROWN
What was plotted,
Did not take me.